The Lonely
by Dr. E. Mode
Summary: "He stared right at me and in a moment that occurred faster than any human could ever see, his eyes flashed a bright gold fire that started at the pupil and extended outwards." – The Sons are not the only supernatural beings in Boston. Set 8 years after the movie. T for lang/adult situations and innuendos.
1. Remembering

**Summary**: "He stared right at me and in a moment that occurred faster than any human could ever see, his eyes flashed a bright gold fire that started at the pupil an extended outwards." – The Sons are not the only supernatural beings in Boston. Set 8 years after the movie.

**A/N:** I wrote this on a whim, as most of my stories are written … I hope to finish this. It may take a little time, and watching the movie a few times, but I am excited to finally have the guts to post this.

The Covenant

The Lonely

**1. Remembering**

_December._

The dark clouds rolled into Boston during the night. They hung ominously in the sky, holding onto the rain as long as possible. People donned raincoats and shouldered umbrellas in anxious anticipation. Every so often a pedestrian would look up suddenly, expecting the cold water to fall to the earth and break the perfectly serene evening. After briefly pausing to check the weather's status, those ever-so-cautious holiday shoppers continued on their destination. It was December and a little too warm for snow, so the soggy alternative was of course rain. That thought was always enough to dampen the Christmas spirit … though not mine, since I had none.

Late evening fell as I walked briskly through the streets of my current home: Boston. I loved this city, almost more than any other place I had every lived – Rome, Madrid and New York City to name three. This was my city, with all of its imperfections, secrets and lies. I loved this city. I smiled at that thought as I pulled open wide the door to my favorite coffee shop. I did not drink coffee or the like, but I enjoyed the seclusion from the rest of the city, and it always proved to be entertaining people watching. Those who did know of this place rarely told others because it was a safe haven – _our_ safe haven.

The place was a little hole in the wall near Boston Common, down a side street where only a bicycle would fit. The road seemed to narrow the further down you walked, as if the bricks were attempting to reach out and touch your arm. There was a large wooden door to the building and a picturesque bay window that had "Ole Irish Coffee Shop" in a Gaelic-looking font scrawled across its front. Inside, though the width could not have been more than thirty feet, the shop was very deep. Upon entering you are instantly hit with the sweet aroma of coffee, cream and warm baked goods. It is as if the steam rising from the cups pulls beckons you, urging you to take a step out of your chaotic life. There are a few tables in the front, some by the window, and along the left wall was where Mark and his wife Erin work their magic. Erin is usually in the back baking the delicious pastries that sit in the tiny display windows that rest comfortably on crowded counters. The menu selection is very standard and not vast, definitely never-changing. It is dimly lit with little wooden tables and chairs, and a few booths along the right wall covered in deep, forest green seats. Framed pictures of Ireland, and old Irish sayings adorn the walls. I love it.

"Good evening Lilly," the owner, Mark McFadden, a kind Irish man said in his thick accent, giving away his original roots immediately. He had a kind old face. Not that he was old, maybe 60, but years of hard work, waking up at 4:30am to serve people at 5:15am and not closing his doors until 10:30pm had created many creases across his pale freckled skin. His light brown, wispy hair lay across a balding scalp, but his bright blue eyes were always alert. He was very perceptive, which I had to be careful of sometimes, especially when I came in with burdens on my shoulders. After going to this coffee shop at least five times a week for the past four years, he knew me pretty well … correction: he knew when something was wrong, and knew the façade that I always played up for him.

"Good evening Mark," I replied in my soprano voice, which still held traces of my city of origin, London. It trilled unnaturally through the air, which usually caught people off-guard at first. But Mark was used to my voice by this point. As I walked by him, I smiled my closed mouth smile and retreated to my usual corner. It was a solo table for two where I occupied one seat, and gave up waiting for someone to fill the other. It was tucked in the far back corner, almost hidden in shadow, as if the light was afraid to reach the dark recesses of the coffee shop.

"Try some coffee?" Mark was cleaning white porcelain cups for those that decided to stay in and enjoy their warm beverages. His bony hands, calloused from years of burns and cuts, gingerly held the fragile dishes and white dish rag. He asked me the same question every time I walked into the place, and I always responded with the same honest smile.

"It's not my cup of tea," I grinned at my own pun, and he too chuckled at the joke. After four years I never ordered a single thing from Mark, but he never took it personally. He had told me once that the purpose of opening his shop was for people to find a place to feel comfortable and if they wanted a cup of joe to help lift their spirits, then by all means they were welcome. But the main reason he stayed in business was to offer a place for people to hide and retreat from their world – sadly most of the people that walked through Mark's door were escaping from a broken life.

I always had the … _gift_, so to say, to sense other people's emotions. I could tell when someone was upset, or if someone was angry. I usually felt an overwhelming wave of sadness and remorse when I went to Mark's, strangely this did not keep me away. Rather, it _drew_ me to this place. After living such a broken life myself, I found the shattered hearts and pain a comfort. The only days it was too hard to handle were when I too had burdens that weighed down my thoughts, and then the empathy link I had with every person present was overwhelming. The only way to squelch the agony was to leave – on those days, the days when I left after only sitting for a half hour, Mark knew I was not emotionally right.

I pushed my dark, layered brown hair behind my ears. The layers began at my jaw line and continued to the middle of my back, most of the hair cascading around my face when I leaned forward to pull a journal out of my black, leather messenger bag. I rifled through the bag, which contained keys to my apartment and car, a _very_ small snack in case I got an insatiable thirst while out (luckily this had never been used), several leather-bound books from my personal library, and of course my journal and pen. I used to bring an ink well and write with an old-fashioned pen, but it got too messy and I liked to scribble on the parchment paper until Mark had to close so there was no time to let the ink dry.

For ten minutes I stared off into space, just thinking of my day's activities and the ones that awaited me that evening. There was not much variation from day to day, even on the weekends, which I labored unconditionally. I worked nights at a very well-to-do private pharmaceutical company called MediCorps owned by Dr. Neil Garwin. I was on the skeleton crew shift with about three other people that were unfortunate enough to get the short end of the stick. I chose to take the night position, but sometimes even my positive attitude was not enough to bring even a smile to those three poor people. Two were PhD candidates doing research for Harvard University, and the other one was a lab technician hired by Dr. Garwin as a favor for an old friend.

After work, which lasted from 11pm to 5:30am, I went home to my one bedroom apartment and ate. I usually ate a lot because there was no time to even sneak a snack from 8pm (my usual arrival time at Mark's coffee shop) to the time I returned from work. Day was like poison to me, it affected me too badly and I stayed inside. If it was absolutely necessary I would leave during the day, but extended exposure to the sun was not healthy for me – it destroyed my skin.

As it was already 8:15 where I sat, there in Mark's safe haven from the world, I tapped the pen lightly against my chin and pondered what to write about this evening. Four years ago I had started writing my memoirs. They were extensive, and at first I tried to write them in order, but the dates and the details blurred together so I began a new technique of just writing whatever I _could_ remember at the time, attempting to put a correct date and location with it. My mind refused to focus that evening. The door opened, hitting the bell that hung over the doorframe and made my green eyes dart up.

All life ceased to exist as _He_ walked in. The rush of air that blew through the door brought the sweetest smell to my nose. It was a mix of citrus and honey. It was so sweet, yet bitter, but in a good way. It made my mouth water and all thoughts vanish from my mind. I nearly dropped my pen, but my reflexes were fast enough to catch it. He had never walked through that door before. I examined this new patron's face, mannerisms, and most importantly his emotions. He was tall, dark, and extremely handsome, but my attention was not focused on his face, rather his intense, complicated emotions. He was spurting a mixture of anger and sadness. There was something inside of him that was aching and longing, for what I did not know, but it was important. Whatever he hurt from, it used to be his … _lifeline_. My eyes filled with remorse as I witnessed one of the saddest people that had ever walked into Mark's shop – and Mark had no idea, not even as the stranger's dark, deep voice solemnly asked for a medium cup of regular coffee with only milk.

Upon hearing his voice my eyes finally darted to his face and this time the pen did fall, as well as the journal. The stranger turned in my direction. We locked eyes. It was impossible to not turn away and refuse to see the man that stood before me. But he stared back with indifference, and no sign of recognition. He turned back as Mark asked for $2.75. Forgetting where I was, and how public the coffee shop could be, I picked up both pen and journal in one lithe motion and was standing next to the stranger in less than a second. I double-checked to make sure no one was gaping at how fast I had moved, but no one seemed to notice that I was standing literally three inches from this man.

Words caught in my throat as I attempted to call his name, but I failed. It was his smell – the intoxicating, addicting scent. All I could do was wait for him to turn and collide with me. Of course that did not work, he put a sleeve on the cup so as not to burn his hands, and just shuffled to his left to leave the shop without ever knowing I was behind him. As the distance between us increased, I contemplated letting him walk out of my life. There was no guarantee this would be our last meeting, but neither was it for certain that our paths would ever cross again. The fear of living the rest of my life with another regret put a pain in my heart that was impossible to escape. This was when I willed my voice to action.

"Douglas?" I asked softly, of course it was barely a whisper so only someone sitting a few inches from me would be able to hear it. "Douglas. Douglas!" My voice rang out as I chased after the stranger, putting a hand on his warm, shoulder as he went to pull open the door.

All attention was on me. I could feel all the emotions in the room immediately turn to curiosity – even his. He had never heard a voice like mine, I knew, and he looked at me with a wrinkled brow. I was sure he pondered what I could possibly want of him. I stared up at the face of my ex-husband. Had he really survived that horrid night? It was a long time ago, so to not have any contact with him in that span of time was strange, but then again – thinking back on the events that unfolded that evening – it was not completely out of the question either.

"Douglas?" I called my ex-lover's name as tenderly as I had said it the first time we had kissed.

He paused, obviously taking him my appearance, my voice, and my demeanor. Was I worth looking at? What was he thinking? Finally he spoke.

"No," he kept his voice level and shook his head, still grim, but with more tone than when he had spoken to Mark. There was no hint of recognition in his voice, but he looked as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes and he was seeing the small coffee shop for the first time. But his dark gaze rested back on me as he continued. "I'm Caleb. I think you have the wrong guy."

"Caleb …" I repeated, my eyes again filling with remorse as my lower lip trembled. I could feel the pit in my stomach becoming even deeper and the hole in my chest becoming wider. "I'm sorry … I … I was mistaken. Pardon my intrusion." I let my hand fall from his shoulder and entwined my arms across my chest. Cold was not something I usually felt, but a shiver went down my spine. I stared up at his dark brown eyes, and I could tell, without using my empathy link, that there was something horribly wrong with this Caleb and that we would meet again.

Obviously picking up on the fact that I was done speaking, Caleb opened his mouth. He cleared his throat first. "Hm, I'm, um, sorry I wasn't who you were looking for. Can I help you?"

It was half-hearted, but the polite and noble thing to say and do. It was something Douglas would have said if he were alive and in the same situation. For a moment the entire world stopped and I could only stare at Caleb's perfect face. My insides felt alive suddenly, and my heart began to beat just a little more strongly. I was instantly in love. Caleb still stared at me with a curious expression, not annoyed or disturbed by my silence … just curious. I simply shook my head in response to his question and turned to retreat to my corner of the coffee shop.


	2. Gala Date

**A/N:** Slowly bringing in the Sons of Ipswitch.

The Covenant

The Lonely

**2. Gala Date**

_Seven months later. July._

It was the end of the fiscal year and the company's annual summer ball, where the big-to-dos and the trustees pooled all the employees at MediCorps into one large hall so we could be bored to death as they rattled off impressive numbers signifying our net worth and income, was right around the corner. It was also the company's time to properly recognize those employees that went above and beyond their call of duty. After working at MediCorps for four years I had never once accepted the invitation, despite being recognized every year for my talents. I think it came down to the fact that they really appreciated the fact that I did not mind the late shift. While most pharmaceutical companies shut down at night; we stayed awake, which helped keep us at the head of the pack.

Not that galas disgusted me or anything; quite the contrary, I used to greatly enjoy dancing, but time changed me and I was not as comfortable with being around all those _people_. I shied away from the invitation every year, and always gave Dr. Garwin the RSVP card myself, apologizing politely. But this year was different.

"I wish you would change your mind, Lilly," Garwin spoke softly, his deep voice a contrast to my higher-pitched tenor. I could see his carotid artery pulsing, which always stuck out a little more than usual when he had something particularly stressful on his mind. I bit down on my tongue as I averted my eyes from the morbid vessel. "You will be recognized for the fourth year in a row. Every year I accept the award on your behalf, they're going to think you don't exist and I'm pocketing the reward money." He chuckled at his own joke, and I politely smiled. "Can I ask why you don't attend? You've never given me a straight answer."

I remained placid, my pale face never changing emotion. I searched quickly in my head for a proper way to explain my reasoning. It was the first time he had truly attempted to pry open my mind and see what I was thinking. Thoughts whirled in my head at lightening speed, and after what seemed like forever to me, but in reality was a mere second, I responded.

"I do not feel comfortable around so many people," I replied softly, a smile tugging at my thin mouth, a deeper meaning to this than he would understand. Garwin was used to my voice by now, but I remember even him being caught off guard by it the first time we had spoken.

"But you would be around colleagues –"

"That I do not know," I quickly reminded him. "I work the night shift. And not that I mind it, I simply do not know anyone and I feel that it would make me very self-conscious to appear in public without even a date. What would the others think?" I said the last question in a tone of jest.

I smiled at the last sentence and so did Garwin because he knew that I could care less what others thought of me. There were many employees that would have me nixed from the company in heartbeat if it were up to them, even the trustees had debated it, but based on the rate at which I worked and the amount of revenue accredited I produced, they had no choice. I had to stay. But my six-digit salary was always a sore subject amongst the other employees. It was an indulgence – my salary that is. I would have gladly worked for free, but then questions as to where my source of income came from would surface and I did not want to get into the whole inheritance and long back story of how I had acquired so much money – the truth never sat well with people, and these days the reality of it all would have had me committed to a psych ward.

"Well I have a solution to this problem, and this is the real reason why I strongly urge you to go this year," Garwin sat up straight in his plush leather chair. His hands rested in a folded position on the cherry desk, which was meticulously decorated with a name plate, two shallow boxes, one labeled "in" the other "out" (for all his important papers), his computer, which rested on the right side of his desk, and a his Blackberry. I raised my eyebrow at his statement. "I have four sons as you know, Reid being the eldest, graduated from college two years ago and just finished his MBA, both at Harvard. He would have been in your class if you were not so smart." He paused to smile – my age, to these people was 26, which of course caused some jaws to drop when I explained how I had finished my PhD four years prior.

"Are you suggesting I go with your son to the gala?" I pretended to be blind to his obvious hinting, but this suited Garwin's personality and his need for dominance.

"Of course," he smiled brightly, a set of perfectly white, and polished teeth shone. "I've talked so much about you to my family that they feel they already know you."

"Hardly," I muttered, too low for him to hear.

"Reid has recently moved back into the house, he prefers the home cooking as opposed to his makeshift dinners and take-out. His interest finally reached its pinnacle and he found a picture of you stashed in my company files. It was a newspaper article when we got that anti-depressant medicine approved last year. I will admit he was instantly hooked, and has been asking about you since."

"Has he now?" I replied indifferently. I wondered what Reid looked like – did he resemble Garwin's pale yellow hair and fair skin and bright blue eyes? Maybe he looked more like his mother who had more color in her face and dirty blonde hair.

"He would be very grateful if you accepted his invitation to the company party," Garwin's brow furrowed with seriousness.

It was not wise to upset my boss, especially since I expected to keep this position as long as possible – at least until it was time to move on. I did not feel like relocating myself just yet. My eyes glanced down at my shoes, black heels to match my equally dark pants and button-up shirt. The only color in the whole outfit was a silver necklace, which I always wore: a sterling silver chain with a pendant of an intricate Celtic knot. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pristine, white lab coat. (On the left side it said in navy script, "Dr. Lilly Foster").

What was _one_ date?

"Tell Reid that I would be honored by his presence that evening and I will meet him promptly at 7:30 in the cocktail lounge."

A wide smile of approval spread across Garwin's face. "I will most certainly tell him, but surely you would want him to pick you up in –"

"No," I snapped, a little harsher than I had expected. Garwin stared in astonishment. "Excuse me," I cleared my throat and tried to soften my gaze, "I mean no thank you, I would prefer to arrive on my own since I will most likely have to travel across town to get my dress. Therefore I will get my own transportation to the ball, but I would allow for Reid to take me home in the evening if he does not mind." I hoped the last part had satisfied Garwin.

Apparently it did because I could see the wrinkles in his face contort into a more than happy expression. We chatted for a few more minutes, and then Garwin said he had to leave, which was understandable, it was already 11:30pm. But he had graciously waited for me to arrive so I could give my RSVP card. He moved the check mark next to "no" to "yes", and then dismissed me.

Work that night was long and solemn (not that every other night was not). I worked in complete silence, not even noticing when one of the other workers broke a test tube all over the counter. My hands worked meticulously, mechanically and in perfect rhythm, almost faster than I had intended them to, but my mind was no where to be found. I worked like a robot and lost concentration, only thinking of one thing: Would Reid be the one to finally fill the seat across from me at my table in Mark's coffee shop?


	3. Reid Garwin

**A/N:** Reviews welcome! Thanks to those that have read this over, as well as those that have followed the story!

**3. Reid Garwin**

_Night of the company gala._

I meandered into the main living room, through the narrow hallway, glancing habitually at the front door through the small foyer. I continued through the little hall and to my bedroom, which was located at the end of the hall and off to the right. A full sized mirror hung on the wall and I examined my dress, still not sure if this was what Garwin had wanted, but it was too late now – the check was already cashed.

It was a simple dress made of deep blue satin. It had a halter neck and a diamond studded string at the waistline that went around the back. The front dipped down lower than a dress should go, but it was July. I had strategically placed sticky tape in places sticky tape should not be. The back of the dress went just below the small of my back and bunched, held together with a row of diamonds. I had pulled my hair up into a semi-French twist. Really it was a French twist gone wrong, so I made do with that I could, and just curled whatever stray pieces fell.

"Good enough," I muttered and looked at the clock: 7:20. "Grrrr." I growled, grabbed my silver purse, slipped my shoes on and bolted out the door. I lived closer to City Hall and this party was on the waterfront in the Inner Harbor at a really elite, privately owned facility that no one has ever heard of: "The Red Rose". I was pretty sure we kept this place in business by paying top dollar for three expensive occasions ever year: the Christmas party, a ball we've come to call "March Madness" (when we host one of the largest pharmaceutical conferences on the East Coast), and finally our summer gala.

I arrived at The Red Rose at 7:31.

"Damn," I muttered to myself as I looked down at my watch and entered the foyer.

"I'm sure whoever is waiting for you will be more than fine with the extra five minutes," a young voice chuckled.

I looked over at a tall boy, bright blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. He smelled like cigar smoke, not the cheap musty kind, but expensive Cubans. It was entwined with something else I could not quite put my finger on – perhaps brandy? Yes, it was the same scent that Garwin carried with him. I knew it was Reid. But did I change that much from my photograph a year ago? I quickly made sure that I had not left any food on my face from my dinner and ran my tongue over my teeth. No. I was as normal as was expected.

"Reid?" I asked softly. He was not expecting my voice.

"Yes?" he frowned a moment then his eyes went wide. He went paler, if it were at all possible. He blushed uncontrollably; I could _feel_ the heat radiating from his face. "Oh my god, Lilly. I am so –"

"Do not be silly," I looked down in embarrassment for him. I could feel the temperature in his face rising and the panic start to swell in his chest. I rushed (a little more quickly than I had expected) to him and put an icy hand on his hand. He winced at my cold fingertips, but I did not draw back. The calming gesture only made things worse. "It's okay." I smiled. "I do not mind that you could not remember who I was. I look awful."

"Wh-what? N-no," he stammered. I could _feel_ his heart pounding against his rib cage. It was all too tempting … my eyes fell to where his heart was, but I brought my gaze back to his before he even realized my attention was averted.

Thinking it was best to let go (for his and my own sake), I dropped my hand and stared into his eyes. The distance between us helped, but he was still one heartbeat away from arrhythmia. I could feel the tension, like someone standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to jump. I looked towards the crowded cocktail lounge where all the men wore black ties and the women dressed ostentatiously, trying to fit as many diamond rings on their hands as possible.

"Well let us begin again," I smiled reassuringly and extended my hand. "I am Lilly Foster. Pleased to meet you."

He stared wildly at me for a moment.

"Reid Garwin," he took my hand, but did not shake it. I was afraid my frigid temperature had finally put him into cardiac arrest. For a moment I thought he was going to start snacking on my thin, bony hand, but slowly he brought it up to his lips and kissed it. Apparently ice-cold hands did not fall under the 'complete turn-offs' category for Reid. "I believe the pleasure is all mine." He recovered from his faux pas with grace. "Shall we?" He offered his arm and I took it.

It was an evening of fake smiles, and introductions of people I did not know (or cared to see ever again). The emotions in the room were almost uniform: fakeness (except when I spoke to them, then the emotions turned to fascination). Everyone wanted to fit in, yet everyone was afraid of being rejected. They conformed to the stereotypical mold of 'rich and elite'. I politely held the same glass of red wine in my hand all evening and through dinner. When the meal was served I quietly excused myself, explaining that I had many food allergies and could only eat something that was prepared by my own hand. I waited for Reid in the solarium.

"You missed quite a meal," he smiled warmly as he sat next to me on a hard, stone bench.

"I will survive," I replied bleakly. Reid was not half as bad as I had expected, but the entire night my mind could only wander down the path leading to the lone seat across from my table at Mark's. Was Reid the person for me? But then a latent image flashed of Caleb and I instantly felt pain like I had never before. I had not thought of Caleb for quite some time and the repressed memory felt like someone had kicked me hard in the chest.

"Are you okay?" Reid suddenly put a hand on my icy cold shoulder.

I did not even realize that I was hunched over, supporting myself with my hands. Trying to feign a dizzy spell, I gave a look of reassurance and sat up. "Thank you. You are most kind."

Reid wrinkled his nose.

"What is wrong?" I frowned, again self-conscious. His emotions were too mixed to understand correctly, and the alcohol in his system did not make them any easier to decipher.

"Nothing," he conceded and shrugged. "It's just … the way you talk. It's just …"

"Yes?" I raised an eyebrow, curious to see where the conversation was heading.

"You talk like you're from another world almost," his eyes went wide for a moment. "But I guess I just have such bad English that it doesn't matter."

I smiled sheepishly. "I was raised to speak this way." I looked down at my hands thoughtfully as I recalled the truth behind the words, but how out of context it wall was.

We returned to the throngs of people as dessert was being served. Each table was adorned with cakes, cookies, chocolates, and treats that were only dreamed of. The sweets rested delectably on gold platters, which turned like a lazy Susan in the middle of the table. It was during dessert that the awards began. I knew I had to stay until they called my name – Garwin would have murdered me if I had left. I received a plaque with a gold plate on it that had some fancy scribble inscribed on it. I accepted the award, and smiled as wide as possible when they took my picture with Garwin, the president of the trustees and owner of the company. When it was all over, Reid actually came to my rescue.

"So want to ditch this place and actually do something fun?" his eyes lit up like he was going to burst if he tried to contain his excitement any longer.

"Sure," I replied as enthusiastically as possible. Yes, I was glad to have a good excuse to leave, and at the same time not because I would be going with Reid and not Caleb. But I would not let my seven months of thinking of only one person interfere with my escape.

"Dad," Reid put a hand on Garwin's shoulder.

"Ah, Reid, just the person I was looking for. Mr. Thompson here runs a –"

"Actually Dad, I came to say good night," Reid forged through Garwin's malevolent look. "I'm taking _Lilly_," he emphasized my name as if I were some inside joke between the two of them – maybe I was, though his emotions gave no sign of it, "out. I'm going to take her some place a little more fun than this."

There must have been an unspoken exchange between the two because all of a sudden Garwin broke out into hearty chuckles and was all smiles. My eyes darted between the two. I was quick, and I mean much quicker than the layman, but I could not pick up on what was going on. Pretending to not notice Garwin's sudden Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde stunt, I just smiled placidly.

"Oh well don't let me keep you two," he shook Reid's hand. "Lilly, aren't you glad you came?" Did I really have to answer that? I wanted to just murder him right there, but of course could not – too many witnesses, and I would traumatize Reid.

"Yes, Dr. Garwin," I replied reassuringly and reached up as he leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek – how proper. "Good night, Sir. I will see you tomorrow."

"Take the day off," Garwin was still high on whatever had switched his mood so quickly. I blinked incredulously at him. There was something up. I felt like I was on the outside of some secret plan those two had hatched, and I was simply a pawn in their little game. "Don't look at me like that Lilly! You have never missed a day or been late one minute in the four years you've worked at MediCorps. I mean it, take the day off, and who knows, maybe Reid will be free. You two can have some fun."

Ah yes, the catch. The mix of emotions between the two Garwin men was overwhelming and I knew I had to leave before I had a break down.

"Of course, Sir, if you say," I nodded reverently and let Reid pull me away and out the door to his black Jaguar.


	4. Return

**4. Return**

_Five months later. December._

It had been five months to the day when Reid and I first met at MediCorps' summer ball. He was not a bad date, and I had reluctantly given in to seeing him the next day (which his father had so conveniently given me the day off) for dinner. Dinner was … painful. Not that there was ever a lull in conversation, or that the time was just riddled with awkward silence. No. It was painful in the sense that when you are used to living off protein shakes, and you have to bite down on pasta, it is almost agonizing. The food burned all the way down my throat and into my stomach where it sat like a lead ball.

But I moved past the awful food thing. I had to be as perfect as possible for my boss' son. Yes, that was the initial spark to the whole thing – I did not wish to get fired or create tension between my boss and me because I had rejected his son. Luckily for Dr. Garwin, I got along famously with Reid. The only problem was that he was _my_ friend while _he_ considered me a lover. And that is how it went for five months – just dates, hardly any physical contact, which I knew drove Reid up the wall. I was like a drug to him – never enough, and I always kept him coming back for more (unfortunately). But I could not let it go beyond kisses and cuddling – I would lose control and I was not ready to have to bite down on that bullet.

The cloud that shielded Reid's emotions from me during the ball had vanished and he was an open book. I knew exactly what every emotion in his full spectrum of feelings meant. I knew when he was hungry, when he was anxious, and, most importantly, when he wanted to try more than just kissing. I was not a minder reader, just very in tune with Reid's emotions.

I sat in Mark's coffee shop one evening pondering my life the past five months. He knew there was someone else, sort of, and he thought it was a good sign. He believed it was a sign that I was no longer going to have to hideout in his café and wait for my long lost love. But I was quick to remind him that, even after five months, I had never brought Reid to the tiny hole in the wall. It was still my sanctuary and when I wanted to be left alone, I hid … very well. If Reid was destined to be the one to fill my empty space, then why did the chair still remain vacant?

Almost as if answering my question, the bell to the door rang again. The mood changed in the room. Despite being amongst six other visitors, all but one person's emotions tuned out. I could feel him, sense him. I could almost taste the thick, unwavering curiosity that melted into uncertainty like warm chocolate. But most of all I could _smell_ him. I put my marker in my journal, capped the pen, cleaned my area, and in one swift motion stood in front of Caleb. I was over being discrete; I needed to know who he was.

"H-how did y-you do that?" he stammered as my eyes flashed to his.

"Do what?" I asked softly. My voice still startled him, but he pressed on.

"You were sitting there, and the next moment you were in front of me. I –"

" –have no idea what you are talking about," I said sharply, my eyes narrowing, signaling to him to be quiet. He was quick because he did not mention another word of it. In fact he decided to ignore all the words that were said to him and shove by me to get a coffee. I felt his skin brush up against mine and it burned – not a fiery burn, I would never have felt it under my thick, cold skin, but almost like he had left an indelible mark on my hand. "Who _are_ you?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Caleb," he muttered as he dug $2.75 out of his pocket again.

"No … Who are you in the sense that I do not wish to know just your name, but what makes you different from everyone else." I stared at him with as much intensity as possible.

Caleb looked at Mark. "Is she for real?" he asked disbelievingly and I could hear his hands stir in his coat pocket, ready to call 9-1-1 (he had already pressed the "9"). I glared at Mark with a look that he had never seen before – it told him to play it cool or things would get bad. He got the hint and just nodded apathetically to Caleb and shuffled away.

"I would stop what you are doing, Caleb," I said in a low murmur that only he could hear. He narrowed his eyes, not sure what I meant. My eyes flickered to his pocket.

"What? How did you –"

I sighed. _You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Lilly_, I chided myself. "I think we should talk," I suddenly became amiable. Once again, the whole room had only one joint emotion: anxiety. I needed to dispel the negative feelings that consumed us. Caleb blinked, obviously scared by my mood swing. "It would be best if we talked in a more private place, perhaps over there?" I motioned to my table.

"Um …" Caleb's hands were rattling so frantically that the coffee in his cup was threatening to leap out.

"Please?" I made my eyes as round as possible, hoping he would forget my awful behavior just one minute prior. He sighed and nodded, probably scared that I would kill him or something – I guess it was not far off from the truth.

I was too crazed at the moment to think clearly and I had rushed to my table faster than I had intended. But this time Caleb was the only one to see me. I heard his steps falter when he saw how fast I had gotten to the tiny corner of the shop, and his curses when the hot liquid spilled on his bare hand. But I did not sit. I was frozen. Staring at my little table, it suddenly dawned on me that the seat across from me was going to get filled. I turned abruptly and looked at Caleb, suddenly wrought with confused emotions. Tears threatened to fall because the reality of it was finally coming to a head for me.

"What?" Caleb shot, not appreciating my mood swings of course.

By this time Mark's interest had completely peaked and he was staring with wondering eyes at the situation before him. His dream to have my extra seat filled was coming to fruition.

"Have a seat?" my voice cracked at the last word, and turned the statement into a question. I was not sure what this meant, but I could _feel_ a change coming … a good change.

Caleb pulled the chair away from the table and sat, staring anxiously at me as I stood stiff as a board beside him. It was a simple action, but at the same time it meant so much to me that the emotions that filled my insides were overwhelming. I had to block out all the other emotions in the room in order to keep myself in check. I was so fragile at this moment that any wrong move could make me snap and that would be the end of all the people present. Sighing, I slid into the other seat, which was attached to a long bench that ran the length of the wall. There were other two-people tables set up along the bench, but no one dared to even sit in my vicinity.

"Okay …" he said grimly, his lips pressed together in one, long, hard line. "Let's talk."


	5. Caleb Danvers

**5. Caleb Danvers**

For five whole minutes we just stared at each other. Not a word was said and all attempts of trying to communicate the flurry of thoughts that filled our minds were ending abruptly. Caleb's hands trembled. I could _feel_ his heart racing; it was like an unwavering time bomb that kept ticking faster and faster. I drew a deep breath, but something about his scent cleared my mind. At first it was an intoxicating drug, but now it was my antidote to the confusion that wrapped itself around my mind. I closed my eyes a moment and then stared at Caleb with as much intensity as possible. When I looked at him again his eyes were different … they had changed, but only for a brief moment. They were black as coal, but the moment I blinked, they were back to their warm, brown. My concentration broke and speech faltered.

"W-what happened to your eyes?" I asked in a low voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he frowned, but did not give me a moment to rebuke his statement. "How about you start giving answers, such as how is it you're able to move so fast? How did you know I was dialing 9-1-1? Why are you so fascinated by me?"

We both needed answers, so the best way to solve this was to compromise.

"I will answer a question, then you will. I want nothing but the truth," I continued in as mellow a tone as possible. "Since I was the one to act out of fashion first, I will reply first." I sighed. "I am not what you think I am. But I have a feeling you are not what I think you are either."

"That's not an answer," he shot. His heart raced.

"I can feel your pulse increase," I gave a slight grin, but not wide enough for him to see my entire set of impressively sharp canines. "I can feel your pulse, I can hear your heart, I can _smell_ your scent the moment you walk in the door." I would not go any further until he gave up some information.

"Is that all you're going to say?" he grunted in frustration.

"Your turn to tell me something," I lifted an eyebrow.

"Why would I tell you _anything_? I don't know you, and you don't know me. Besides, what make you think that I have anything to say to you?" he frowned.

"You would not be sitting here if there was nothing on your mind."

He sighed and took a sip of coffee. Setting the cup down, he leaned forward. The smell of coffee tainted his citrus and honey scent. I wrinkled my nose instinctually, but immediately returned to normal before he realized a change.

"My name is Caleb Danvers," he said in a low tone. My heart melted again and I could listen to his voice all day. "I don't come here often, only when I … when I feel compelled to."

"Like last year," I alluded to our encounter almost one year ago. "I apologize for scaring you. I, um, have that effect on people sometimes … I speak too quickly or move to fast. It is something that I keep under control unless something clouds my concentration." I looked at him intently. "_You_ cloud my concentration, Caleb."

"Why?" his voice cracked in shock.

I shrugged. "You are not like others that I have met. You are … different. You remind me of Douglas."

"Douglas," Caleb muttered the name and then I felt a wave of realization pour from him. "That's the name you called me last time. Who is he?"

"More like was," I muttered. "He is no longer in my life, but when I saw you I thought for one moment he had returned to me …" I shrugged. "Of course I was wrong, but there was something else that drew me to you."

"What?"

"I do not know," I was truly confused and this frustrated me. I was always so sure of myself and sure of my decisions, but this Caleb threw a wrench into my entire existence. "You are different in some way that I cannot put a name to it. There is something almost supernatural to you that I can feel."

It was then that his feelings shifted from wonder to anxiety. His heart began to race and his muscles tensed. I could see the veins in his neck become more pronounced as he clenched his teeth, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"And what would ever give you the idea that I was linked to something supernatural? Am I that amazing looking as Superman?" he tried to deflect my attention with humor.

"Better," I grinned, again, not showing all my teeth. That would send shivers down his back within moments. "So do I lie? Are you linked to something supernatural?" I leaned forward. "Your eyes do not lie and neither does your heart rate."

I could see him weighing his options.

"Yes. There is something _different_ about me," he replied solemnly.

"Then I am willing to concede the same information." I looked down a moment, and then back at Caleb. My once green eyes were now bright blue – a natural reaction that occurs when I go into, as I call it, 'alert mode'. This time I smiled all the way, exposing my razor sharp teeth, which were meant for only one thing – puncturing human flesh, digging deep into the arteries. Under normal circumstances they are sharp looking, but when in 'alert mode' they grown half an inch.

He froze and his heart rate doubled. I made to go for his hand; he tried pulling back, but I was faster than him. I held on to his wrist and refused to let go. My ice-cold hands wrapped around his pulsing arm. After thirty seconds he began to calm down. He realized that I was not going to harm him, at least in public.

"You're a …" he trailed off, not sure if he was caught in a bad dream or not.

"Yes, a vampire," I said softly and then closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. I inhaled his scent and let it cleanse my palate. When I opened my eyes, they were back to their original green. "We come in different breeds. People don't know this because the ones that hide in the shadows and murder all in their path are nomads, wanderers of the earth. They travel from town to town in packs and kill any and all in their way.

"Then there are those like me that look like a human. If you passed me on the street you wouldn't know better unless I told you or bit you. I am the most common breed of vampire, but lethal nonetheless. Those like me have the ability and the conscience to govern self-control and make rational decisions. I choose to drink from blood bags supplied to me from the hospital … I find wasting human life is a sin, for which I will pay for ten fold in Hell once I finally depart from this earth …" I paused. "Why were your eyes black, Caleb?"

"I don't know what –"

"Let's agree to be honest here, and know that my reflexes are exponentially faster than any human's, and I saw your eyes change to pitch black a moment ago. So again, I ask, why were your eyes black, Caleb?"

He balled his hand into a fist. "I can't tell you."

"Of course you can. I just confessed to being a blood drinker, and yet you cannot tell me why your eyes are black? That seems unfair," I still held on to his wrist.

He somehow saw the logic in my argument and sighed. He stared right at me and in a moment that occurred faster than any human could ever see, his eyes flashed a bright gold fire that started at the pupil and extended outwards. As soon as the flame had dissipated into the whites of his eyes, the coffee in his cup began to boil. Ah, it was magic. He was a … witch? I frowned and looked up at him. The liquid stopped boiling and now sat as a steaming cup of coffee as if it had just been poured.

"I do not understand," I frowned. "You are magical, yes, but how? What is this power you possess?" I looked at his wrist that I held in my hand and the horrid thought of biting it and draining all his blood in one gulp filled my head. If he was talking to me, I was not listening. All I could think of was drinking his blood and receiving answers. Upon taking a bite I would have all the answers I could ever want from Caleb, but I would also not be able to stop myself.

"It's complicated," he finally answered after a minute of silence.

"I have until forever," I said dryly, despite the humor in it.

"Not here," he shook his head.

"Then we will take a walk," I rose in one fluid motion, not even thinking of what his reaction would be. Everyone else's attention had been diverted due to the lack of heated argument they all expected. Our conversation was so low and secluded that they did not have a prayer's chance of figuring out what we were saying.

"Fine," he shrugged, becoming a little more indifferent. I looked over my shoulder to see if he was following me and noticed his eyes return to their dark brown.

"Have a good evening, Mark," I smiled as if nothing had happened.

"Good night," he waved. "Will I see you back here tomorrow?" I knew what he was alluding to. The seat had been filled, but was my life not complete?

"I am not sure," I replied softly and turned on my heel and was out the door with Caleb trailing quickly behind.


End file.
